


Saudade

by Hardcorenerd



Category: Aida (Musical), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Is so freaking SAD alright, It’s a musical adaption with the IT characters inserted, I’m hurting as much as you are, Like pretty please don’t let this die, Look this is an entire tragedy okay, M/M, Please read it’s so worth it, and, good luck, happy ending though I guess, this musical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 02:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17674796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hardcorenerd/pseuds/Hardcorenerd
Summary: Portuguese. “The longing for a person or place you love which is now lost to you. A haunting desire for what is gone.”Two princes from two completely different worlds, separated by all of the worst parts of humanity, unexpectedly fall in love and nothing - NOTHING - will be the same again. For anyone.





	Saudade

A woman with beautiful red hair and shimmering green eyes sat with a smile on her face, her fair skin glowing under the light of the setting sun. The people around her all giggled and whispered together as the woman focused on the two she was talking to. She didn’t know either of their names and she didn’t have to. She was royalty after all. Above them in every way. It showed in the way she looked at the other people, even the ones she spoke to; with her nose slightly tilted up, her eyes following the bridge to sort of see them and sort of not, never taking any of their faces into long term memory. It showed in the extravagant clothes she wore; smooth, soft silk that hugged her body and showed each line and curve, exposing skin to draw the eye of anyone and everyone. It showed in the way she lounged, graceful and majestic even in her passive relaxation. Royalty was in her very bones, colored in makeup and highlighted in rich purple and perfect white.

    Her smile was vibrant and beautiful and the sun itself seemed to bend around her to highlight and accentuate every inch of her, making her almost angelic in the way she seemed to glow. She was beautiful… and she knew it. Everyone around her knew it too.

She was young and the topic she tittered about with those about her was silly and of no consequence. She wouldn’t have remembered it the next hour after the conversation had ended as the day really came to a close, even if it had not been interrupted.

A young man ran into the room, jaw slack and lips parted, his body shaking and his face drained of color, horror in his eyes. All chatter stopped as his stumbling steps echoed, all eyes turning to him. It was a shock, his state. The usual straight backed, lively Prince of Egypt looked to be a completely different person. He looked about ready to fall over and shatter, as if he was made of glass. The red headed girl sat up, her smile falling as her eyes filled with worry. “William?” She asked softly. “Are you okay?”

William took another step into the room. “I-I know tha- know that it’s not p-pruh-proper, me being here.” He swallowed, blinking hard as tears filled his eyes and he tried to collect himself. “I needed to see you, Pruh-Princess. I-I need-ded…” He gasped. “George is dead.”

The kind of silence that people so young should never know fell upon the people in the room as everyone froze, trying to process the Young Prince’s words. Finally, the Princess knocked blinked, sucking in a breath. “I wish William and I to be alone,” she demanded rather seriously. Also quite out of character for her, who was usually silly and light of heart.

The people around her looked at each other then at her. “Princess, it is not smart for us to leave you un-“

Eyes that had been so beautiful filled with fire that sent rivers of lava each of those around her as she looked at them, individually. “I am Princess Beverly,” she seethed. “Daughter of the Pharaoh- the very Son of Isis himself. I do not care what you think, you’re just slaves. I do not care what happens to you or how my father will feel about it. Leave!”

A room had never cleared faster, the woman and men that had not so long ago been so at peace and smiling now as shaken and terrified-looking as young William.

Once they were gone, Beverly stood to her feet and moved to her friend, pulling him into her arms. He all but collapsed against her, tears not falling but whimpers coming from his mouth as he slowly lost his grip on his emotions. Beverly began to run a hand through his hair, which was too brown to be as red as hers but too red too be considered a simple brown. “They found his b-buh-body on the river bank of the N-Nile,” the boy whispered, his voice wet and cracking with emotion.

Beverly hushed him soothingly, her cheek resting on his shoulder. “Don’t think about it, William,” she urged. “Come, lay down with me.” She led him to her bed where he barely had the mind to kick off his shoes unconsciously before collapsing not he warm, soft sheets. Beverly held him close. “I got a new dress today.”

William’s eyebrows came together. “Okay?”

The redhead shrugged. “I thought you’d like a distraction,” she reasoned. “May I distract you?” He paused and then nodded. “Every story is a love story,” she cooed. William relaxed, a small bubble of amusement poking at his raw edges. They had always joked about that, since they were even younger than they were now. Before they stopped being tutored together. Beverly had claimed the story they were learning about was boring and William had declared she simply wasn’t looking at it right. It was beautiful, a story of love and what that brings.  _ Every story is a love story _ , eight-year-old William told her passionately.  _ Just, different love. Or no love. You just gotta look. _ Now they used it to make each other laugh or cheer each other up. A challenge. In any tragedy or comedy or history brief, they had to find who loved (or didn’t love) who and how they loved. Made things much more interesting.

“Where is the l-love in this st-story?” William asked, his heart still heavy. “What love is there in this?”

For a moment it was quiet as Beverly thought, trying to come up with some way to answer his question. “Well,” she began. “You loved George.” She paused. “And those that killed him… They did not love him. They hated him, so they- they…”

William frowned more deeply. “They kuh-killed him.”

Beverly boded, sighing. “Yes. They killed him.”

 

That was seven years ago, two years after they had been engaged by their parents. When they were still friends, close and dreaming of a future where they were in love and married and together forever and on. After that day, William changed. He became more distant as every time he tried to go to Beverly for help, she would try to distract him and cheer him up; as he learned, through the years, that men were not allowed to show emotions. Left behind and mostly forgotten as William turned to sailing and adventuring to fill the hole in his chest left behind when his younger brother died, Beverly became even more materialistic, leaning on fashion and extravagance to give her the attention she was so craving.

Over time, they both became far more closed off from everyone else, William overcoming his stutter in favor of a smooth voice as his confidence grew, solidified, and was worn on his skin like armor. They had now been engaged nine years and he was still out in the world, running away and hiding and masking it as a hunger for adventure. He saw more and learned more and conquered more, putting on the people of Nubia the wrath he had for whoever killed his younger brother.

Seven years. It worked for seven years. Seven long years for Beverly and seven far too short years for William.

William had been gone almost six full months when Beverly’s father, the Pharaoh, suddenly fell severely ill. No one could explain it, therefore it could not be cured. As Beverly sat by herself, her dying father rasping in his sleep, she looked out the palace windows and sat back in her chair, watery eyes on the ocean as she wondered where William was. What he was doing. She wished him next to her. Wished him to hold her as they used to always do as children when things would go so wrong as they were now.

“Where are you?” She asked softly, her eyebrows coming together in agitation and pain. She remembered their joke. One that hadn’t been told in so long she couldn’t place exactly when the last time had been since they had said it. “Where is the love in this story?” She asked no one, as the aim of her question was too far away to hear her. “Every tale, true to its core or dramatized to the last detail, you claim. Whether it’s been as set up as our marriage or as sudden as George’s death. Whether long lasting and stretching to forever or sudden and brief. You promised me, William. Promised that no matter how messy or put together, how happy or discouraging, how full of humanity or singularly focused it was. Every mess of a plot line or one of the magic tales you spin with no help or time. Every recounting of history or personal memories. They’re all supposed to be full of love. It’s the core of every saga. So, here alone, while you find the corners of the world and map to and from each end, where is the love as my father dies and I am left to deal with it alone?” She looked back at her father, her pretty face twisting with emotion.

In her mind, the story was about to end. It was about to close and conclude and no matter how she hurt now, they would find their happy ending as they always knew they would.

She was wrong, though. Very wrong. This story? It was only beginning.

While she sat in her royal ease, William was discovering more than just the world. He was slaughtering and enslaving the masses of Nubia, the smaller nation next to Egypt. All in search of complete control over the Nile, the young boy had grown into a Captain, leading the Pharaoh’s men in destruction and suppression against people he could not stop long enough to truly see or understand or think of. It was fair, he had been told. The Nubians would not give up the Nile, but Egypt needed the Nile to thrive. So they had to take it by force. If the Nubians fought back, then they deserved to die.

The Nubians didn’t see it that way.

The Nubian King got a real wake up the day his Advisor help to get the King and the King’s son up to the palace. They had all gone on a walk along the Nile. At the time, the Nubian Prince, Richard, and The Adviser’s son, Edward, were quite close and would run and race and rough house, laughing and jokingly, teasingly insult each other. They were the best of friends, so much so that they even developed nicknames for each other. Richie and Eddie, side by side and being perfect children as the King, Stanley, gave up yelling at the kids to gather themselves and simply settled with internal groaning every time they were dirtied, Hart, or some article of meticulously made material was ripped. Again.

Tragedy struck as passing Egyptian men attacked, Eddie getting Richie and the King further up the hill and into hiding before going back to help his family. Richie’s father pulled him away after they both watched Eddie be captured along with the rest of his family and be carted off onto the boat. They made it home and both were sure they would never see that family ever again.

After, the King would lock down on rules. No leaving unless for battle or look outs- neither of which included Prince Richard.

THIS is where our story begins. A prince and a captain, close but never meeting. Tangled in the same world on opposite sides of the line drawn in the sand. Two sides of the same coin. The conquerors and the conquered, fighting for their place in this world.

The King’s only hope is that they never meet. Richard’s need to get out and do something and see the world will ruin any chances of that desperate hope coming true.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I have this very planned out, since I’m combining two already existing things into one thing, but I am doing a lot of work myself and would like to know what you think about how I fit everything together.
> 
> I would suggest listening to the Aida soundtrack for this story, but if you want a separate playlist from that, let me know and I’ll make one.


End file.
